AN: Where did this come from? I have no idea. I'll add a comment at the end. And it was proof read by me... so... sorry! Spelling and grammar will be bad.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the mistakes.
He looked at her, walking nonchalant to her desk. It still bothered him the two boyfriends thing. It remained a itch inside him. Why did she still doubted she was special? Why would she give herself to any idiot? As if she was a piece of meat, a hole and nothing more. As if she didn't deserve a candle lit dinner, sweet little words whispered into her ears. Because she didn't believe in the irrational, un-evolved notion of love, that was why. No, she let herself be fucked by stupid breath holding Mark and creepy David. Like a bitch. All the idiots had her, all but him. She let them touch her fair skin, watch her fluttering eyes as she came, dive themselves inside her, run their fingers through her silky hair, enjoy her beauty in every possible way.
And there she was signing the stupid report, leaning softly against her desk as if she was, as if she was normal. As if she wasn't a heartless whore. Why couldn't she be like the other squints in the lab? Why couldn't she believe in forever, like Hodgins? Or fall crazy in love like Daisy? Or even like Cam, who at least didn't sleep with every guy?Not Bones, no. Bones was like Pritchard. Sexually open, Ian-fucking Pritchard, who hadn't slept with him either. Bones would have eventually done "the rational thing" and fucked self-righteous, self-promoting, annoyingly British Ian if he hadn't been killed, he was sure.
It would have been better if she had gone with Sully, that would have shown some humanity. But no, the cold bitch stayed to fuck left and right. As if she was worthless.
And he wouldn't make a move because she was special? Because she was beautiful and soft and smart and so goddamn special? Because she liked daffodils? Why would he give it a second, third or millionth thought? Nonsense!
He got up resolved and strode towards her. She didn't even turn, she just remained there, bent, as if he didn't exist, as if he couldn't do anything to her. Almost offering herself like the whore she was. Brilliant, beautiful whore. So he did it. He pinned her to the desk, one hard thrust, pressing his erection to her ass. She gasped. She was going to stop him, she had to. But the bitch just moaned. Moaned as if she liked it, as if it was ok for him to treat her like that. He pressed again, harder this time, and she moaned again. He grabbed her hips and pressed even harder, shifting his hips, shamelessly letting her know he was going to fuck her too. And she did nothing, didn't even try to turn or stop him. He needed nothing more to pull her skirt up and push her torso to the desk. She gasped again, and he just couldn't avoid to furiously send his hand down her panties and give a rough stroke to her clit.
Why wasn't she stopping him? Why was she moaning in that low tone of hers? He stroked her from her entrance to her clit repeatedly, quickly, almost brutally. And the bitch was wet. The fucking whore wasn't turning, slapping him and telling him she was way too special for their first time to be like this. Why wasn't she at least acknowledging he was special, that he wasn't like any other guy, that he ought to treat her differently?
Thus, he just did it. He unbuckled his belt, undid his zipper, took his cock, tugged her panties down and with a fast, hard and painful thrust he plunged in. So tight, so wet, such a maddening her cry. He gave crazed thrusts, raw friction, like an animal, like the fucking alpha male she was always mocking he was. He pulled her back up by her shoulders, she was melting in a sea of gasps, moans and soft cries. She was fighting to keep herself steady, grabbing the edge of the desk with both hands and he could have sworn he was meeting his thrusts half way. He squeezed her breasts, her full, hard nippled breasts that he had dreamt were ivory and soft, and a loud "Oh, God!" rose from her. The bitch came, a full force orgasm that made her every muscle spasm, her head fall back and a loud velvety moan echoed in the empty, he hoped, building. He came too, inside her shaky body, with a final beastly shove.
He backed and looked at her shivery figure. Why wasn't she kicking his testicles, breaking his nose or a limb? Why wasn't she unleashing her wrath for being fucked like that by him? Furious, he dove two fingers inside her, hear her sharp in-take of air, pulled them back out and had a taste of them both. Quickly, looking at his motionless, panting partner, he rearranged his clothing.
One final glance at her back, and he left angry at both of them.
Slowly she regained control of her body. Still a little shaky, she pulled her underwear back up, straightened her skirt and ran both hands through her hair. She turned and rested against the desk. Her mouth was slightly opened, but her eyes were almost totally round. Had that just happened? Had Booth just...? or had she been too embed on her work to notice him go and then she had fantasised? After blinking a few times, unable to chose between those options, she decided to leave. One step forward and she knew. She had had sex with Booth. Raw, hot, animalistic sex. With Booth. He hadn't talked, had he? No, neither had she. Unlike Booth, she had to take some more time before she could actually bring herself to move again.
The next day it was business as usual. He had decided to let it go. He had been an asshole, he had been a misogynistic bastard and he would have to live with it. But if she didn't mind, he wouldn't either. And apparently she didn't. Fine by him.
As always, it was a long day of work that went into night with them still at the Jeffersonian. He was sitting on her couch, right ankle on his left knee. And Bones and her goddamn detachment, he thought. It wasn't too late, he thought, she could still scream at him that he was an asshole, an idiot, a selfish rat. That no friend of hers could do that to her. He wished she would. It would have been redemption. Booth felt the rage grow inside him. She should be mad at him, she should hit him. But, in stead, she stared at her computer, jaw slightly to the side as she read the report. He shook his head. She acted as if she he didn't exist. Not as a friend, not as a threat. He left out a huff of air. And again, it was as if he wasn't even there. At the very least she should feel awkward alone with him at night. Alone in the building. Alone. He felt awkward. He had been feeling guilty for thinking of her as a whore, but she had to be. She had to be if she could be fucked like that and then be all... Bones about it. And then again, just like last night, she walked to her desk, not looking at him, not noticing his presence at all. If he hadn't been a threat before, shouldn't he be after last night? Bones and her damn self confidence. And again, damn it, why was she acting as if she was a piece of meat? Why would she let him fuck her like that?
He was going to leave, that was it. He was going to stand up and leave. And he stood making more noise than needed. He huffed again, and yet no answer. Just like last night, there she was, her back to him, as if... He should be a threat! Those fucking translucent drawers she was opening and closing casted a mystic glow over her. Beautiful Bones, so pure in appearance and such a bitch allowing any bastard, including him, to have her, to do her. If that was the way things were, ok then.
With an anger he had in very few occasions experienced, he walked to her and pressed her to the transparent wall. A surprised "Ah!" escaped her. Surprised? She shouldn't be surprised, she should know what he was capable of. Even more carelessly than last night, he pulled her skirt up, her panties down and send a finger right inside her. Another "Ah" from her. She should have no air, her front against the wall, her back pressed by him. He undid his clothes, only the indispensables, and taking his hand off he slid his anger charged dick inside her. She looked like an X pinned to the wall, legs opened and arms stretched up, hands grabbing drawer-handles. This was painful and delicious. He groaned in spite of himself. He pushed harder, and she moaned. He looked, he dared to look, her eyes were shut and she was biting her lip. Fuck her and her damn pleasure. Hands on the bones of her hips he brought her closer, he plugged in deeper and the whore almost shouted. He tightened his grip on her hips and he had to be scratching her because otherwise his hands wouldn't be slipping. And at that, she fist-punched the wall. His right hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, the silky hair tangled in his fingers. Between clenched teeth he groaned a "you like that, don't you?". Unable to speak, her blue eyes gazed at him. But he didn't want that. He turned her head to the other side. They came at the same time. And she was spent, resting against the wall, breathing broken breaths. He saw her hands slid down the drawers. Even madder than before, he pull himself together again and bolted out.
Brennan was flushed, she felt boneless. That had really happened. Again. What was going on? Why on Earth had he left? And why couldn't she move? She stood pressed to the wall. She looked down after a minute or so. Her panties were there, still wrapped around her right ankle. It hurt a little to move, to bend and put them back on. Yes, there were scratch marks on her body. And soon bruises would come, she was sure. She walked to her chair and sat. The computer was still on but she could not think. She just sat until she was ready to leave.
And the next night, fuck it, fuck her, fuck him, he thought. She was the same as always, the same cold, heartless whore that didn't care if he took her disrespectfully against a desk or a wall, to whom him or any other dick was the same. To her, no one was special, it was obvious. He was past furious, he was beyond angry. At himself, at her, at the messed up situation which she willingly ignored. Wasn't she a genius? Shouldn't she be telling him that there was a flaw in his logic if he talked about love and then fucked her like that? Shouldn't she be asking him why he said she was special and then treated her like a fucking bitch? But no, there she was, tucking one strand of hair behind her ear before returning her full attention to the photos in her hand. The slut, having such an innocent demeanor. This time she was going to see him coming. With a violence that shocked him, he grabbed her wrist and lifted her from her chair. She looked up at him and for the first time he had no idea what the hell she was thinking. It was her perfect opportunity to fucking stop him, he thought. However, she didn't. She let him push her against the desk again, face down again. In a powered combination of the two previous night, he pulled her panties so hard that they tore. He stroked her clit violently, he thrusted mercilessly, he fucked her like the bitch she was and this time she was definitely fucking enjoying it. And she panted, moaned trying to lift herself, but he wouldn't let her. He wouldn't let the bitch look at him while he was being this monster. She thrashed the desk, but offered no resistance to him. He wanted her to moan a plea for him to stop, or at least to let her look at him, he wished she would ask him to kiss her. But she didn't. What she did was grab his hips and add to the pressure. From the collar of her shirt, he pulled her up. One hand brutally squeezed her breasts, pressing her back to his chest, the other hand rubbed her swollen clit harder than ever before while he pushed so beastly inside her that her feet almost lift from the floor. Seeing her face now, he hated her. He hated that she loved this, that she loved him doing this to her. She should love him being gentle, kissing her softly, not this perverted version of himself that he loathed. And yet she held a tight grip on his hips and small cries grew on her throat. Her throat, that should have been made to receive feather light kisses. He scratched her again, his hand inside her shirt now. He wanted to mark her, to leave a scarlet A on her chest because she could as easily be an adulteress. Making sure she came shortly before him, once she fell powerless on the top of the desk, he made himself come aimming at her ass. She felt the liquid on her right buttock, but she could not move, she could do nothing other than trying to catch her breath. She felt his hand there, where his semen had splashed and then she felt his finger in her mouth, the taste of him in her mouth. She licked it and he hated it. He smeared the rest of his sperm on her ass and cleaned his dick with her skirt. He wanted her to be marked by his smell. Her mouth, her ass, her core, her clothes, he wanted all of her marked, smelling of sex so everyone knew. And he hated himself for wanting that so badly.
This ravishing, crazy, violent rant continued for 10 straight days. For the first time in her life, she didn't know what to think. And Booth just loathed himself. But it was more powerful than him, he could not stop. He couldn't even bring himself to leave earlier, when there was other people around, when it was still safe to be around her. And tonight was no different. He walked to her, mad like hell, hot like hell and pushed her against the closed door. He saw the steam from her words on the glass and only then he could comprehend her. "I can't"
He backed off as if thrown out of his axis. Was it finally happening? "What?" it was almost a whisper.
Then she turned and looked down. "I can't" She crossed her arms on her chest.
He was staring at her. God! She had realized that she should not be fucked but made love to. That they were too special for this sinful shit.
But she was Bones, so she added in a low tone "My gynecologist says that I have to restrain from rough sex for a while..."
Booth almost died then and there "What?" in an even lower voice.
Her gynecologist had actually asked if she had an abusive boyfriend, if she needed legal aid. After she assured him she didn't, that everything was consensual, the doctor had told her to stop that for a while. And to alternate rough with more gentle sexual activities in the future. And that her cystitis would go away if she gave it time. But she didn't go into that much detail "The doctor says that I need to... that I can't... well, that my vagina needs to heal before I re-engage in this kind sexual activities."
Booth's heart shattered. He was despicable, a worthless piece of shit. He should burn in hell "I hurt you? Did I do that to you?" he knew the answer to that. He had done it. He had even intentionally scratched her perfect skin.
His face was disfigured, she noticed. "Well..." if she said yes, he would feel guilty, so she tightened her lips before saying "I never stopped you"
"Oh, Bones" He had taken that living piece of heaven that was Bones and transformed her into a battered person. He stepped forward and held her, guilt drowning him.
That shocked her. She stood there, uncomfortable with this display. "I'm fine, Booth, it's fine" And it was really fine. "It's not a big deal, Booth"
He would not take that "I am sorry, I am so sorry" He repeated into her ear.
"It's not your fault" Brennan reassured him wishing that he would let go of her.
Of course it was. His jealousy and his anger had gotten hold of him and he had transformed into an abusive violent sonovabitch. He kissed her temple and that set her off.
She pushed him away delicately "Booth, it's not your fault, it's ok, it happens"
It happens? It shouldn't happen to her. Certainly not because of him. "I am so sorry, Bones" he said trying ot cup her face, but she flinched. It was an instant, just an instant, before she relaxed and accepted his gesture.
"I'm sorry" He repeated staring into her eyes.
Those dark, brown, deep eyes looking at her like that, so full of something. Something that got her stomach to flinch and she couldn't suppress the smile that crept on her face, but she downplayed it turning her head a little to the left. She looked at him again, the smile still there "It's really not your fault"
He wanted to stab himself right in the middle of the chest. There she was, the rose skin of her cheeks barely touching his hand, her body full of scars and she was smiling at him, telling him that it wasn't his fault.
"Yes, Bones, it is" he said, his hands now on her shoulders, where they often were when he explained human interaction to her. "I shouldn't have done... I should have been careful, I should have... I should have been gentle with you"
The pain leaked from his face and it was killing her "Booth, you did nothing wrong" and after a short pause she added "I could have said something"
And there laid the heart of the matter. She could have stopped him the first time. Or any of the times that followed. And she could have told him to be more delicate. But he had been too upset, to blind, to focused on calling her a whore to diminish his guilt and had paid no attention to her. "Why didn't you?"
She had her eyes fixed on his. The smile was gone and now her face was the perfect poster of seriousness. She would not say why. She would not say that she liked it, even when he had to know at this point. Far more important, she wouldn't say why she liked it.
Stupidly late, it hit him. If she had gone to the doctor the pain had to be extreme, particularly during their last encounters. And she had sucked it up, she had let him continue to hurt her. Why on Earth had she let him hurt her over and over?
Even though she sucked at non verbal communication with pretty much everyone, she could see it in his eyes. She didn't look away, but she didn't speak either.
"Why, Bones, why did you let me hurt you?"
She blinked, an inner debate going on in her head. She could leave and come back tomorrow as if none of this had happened, not the sex nor the talk. She could remain silent until he gave up and see what happened next. Or she could just tell the truth. The fact that he had changed the question form why didn't you to why did you let me hurt you leaned the debate towards truth. She didn't want him to think that she wanted him to hurt her. She filled her lungs with fresh air and let it out "Because you would have stopped it all together" She stared at him almost defiantly. She wanted to see him try and deny it.
It was his turn to look away. Of course she would think that. It was, after all, what he wanted. For her to stop him. Any word from her would have made him stop. Anything that said she wasn't a masochist bitch would have made him go away and whip himself until the end of time. Which was something he was still considering. All he could add as "I am sorry"
That annoyed her and she lost it "Would you stop saying you're sorry? It is not your fault, none of this is your fault, I'm not some inexperienced girl that can't distinguish pain from pleasure, you didn't rape me, I could have pushed you away if I wanted"
Now that was revealing. That was a statement that he could process. It was explicit enough for him to fully understand. He thought he had it, and maybe he did. Just as fast as she had spoke, he asked "Why didn't you want to push me away?"
"Because you would have stopped" She replied like a suspect who was no longer thinking clearly and just spit the facts and she continued "You would have thought I was" she shook her head looking for the word "rejecting you, and you would have apologized and said something stupid like we shouldn't have sex because we're partners, that I shouldn't allow you to have sex with me because I'm special and you would have decided it was all a mistake and that you took it back and things would have been weird between us"
And his fury grew again. Fucking whore! She had let it all happen because it was easier than things getting a little bit weird between them? "Things would have been weird? That's your reason?" He was almost shouting.
He was definitely more stupid than she had calculated "No, Booth!" She couldn't believe he wasn't getting it and, in top of it, he had the nerve to shout at her. Brennan was mad, what the hell did he think she was? She was in a frenzy of words "My reason was that I wanted to have sex with you, I didn't want you to stop and I liked it, ok? I enjoyed it" Damn, it wasn't just science, she had to spell everything out for him.
"Oh, so you enjoyed being hurt to the point of needing to go to the doctor?" He was furious with her. He didn't even know why anymore.
She could have punched him. She should, for being so stupid. For only listening to the things that helped him build his point in stead of taking every piece of evidence and drawing conclusions from them all. "I enjoyed sex with you! I didn't mind the pain! I would have said to slow down if you weren't so narrow minded to think that, that..." She ran out of words.
And then he got it "That gentle sex was love making?"
"Yes" Her answer, tiered or defeated or something. She was furious and exhausted. "And you would have stopped" She added slower. She put her hands on her hips and looked down shaking her head. She could not be more clear.
"Why would I have stopped?" He had to admit that he would have, but he wanted to know why she was so sure.
She didn't want to talk anymore. But he was unable to understand the most basic things, so she had to explain "Because you wouldn't make love with me... because I don't believe in it, because you only make love with people you love" She stated it as a fact. And it was fine. A fact is a fact. It's pointless to be angry at a fact.
Booth was speechless, stunned. He stood there, frozen. And after a long silence she started to walk. He saw her grab her bag and her jacket and pass by him towards the door. Again, he had to ask, he needed to know why she thought that "Why don't I love you?"
She came to a sudden halt, closed her eyes and lowered her head. She didn't do whys, she did whos, hows or whats, not whys. Enough with this, she thought "See you tomorrow"
She had adjusted to the idea during the ride home. It was... frustrating, but she could adapt. It had been good, it had been very good and she was going to miss it, but she could adapt. She tossed the mail on the counter not looking at it, left her bag and keys next to it and headed to her room. Stupid Booth, unable to separate tenderness from love. In the bathroom, she washed her hands, took off her underwear, rolled her skirt up and cleaned herself. Doctor had said she had to keep herself clean. And even when she wasn't squeamish and she had never been shy about sexual organs, hers or others, she didn't look. She had seen it, she didn't need to see again, she knew what it looked like.
Skirt down again, she went to the living room, started her computer and walked to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and smelled the contents of a tai take out carton. Still edible. She put the food in a bowl and then in the microwave. Water, because she was going to work. Things were good, things were cool, things were like they should be. Calm and normal, and she was going to work. Except, of course, for the knock on the door. She shook her head.
Within minutes from her departure, he followed. The same avenues and streets she had taken, because she always took the same way. He parked in front of her building and looked up. He went up stairs and knocked, realizing then that the had no idea of what he was going to say. The door opened and he stood stunned like a dear on the road. She tilted her head and half smiled. Her resolution to say go home evaporated. "Come on in"
He walked in and heard her walk away and then back to him. Without asking, she put a bottle of beer in his hand. She should have asked what he was doing there, but she didn't. It was one of those times when he needed a few minutes to open up and talk to her.
The microwave announced the food was heated, but no one was paying attention to it. With heavy steps he moved to the couch and sat letting out a deep sigh. One could see the ideas ordering in his brain. She sat next to him ans sipped the beer, water and work would have to wait. So did she.
Words weren't coming easy because he had been a bastard. But he had to man up and admit it "Listen, Bones, what I did to you was wrong" First flag went up on her brain, but she let him continue "I... I'm sorry I hurt you and I'm sorry I meant it" second flag on her brain "You're... I shouldn't have used you... and I am not sure I did" He hadn't, it wasn't about his oun pleasure as it was about her, about his jealousy for her "I... I... I wanted..." he shook his head
She blinked, pondered if she should talk now, but she decided to encourage him to go on "You wanted... what?"
He looked at her by the corner of his eyes. Her blue eyes staring back at him, her spine straight and her serious face were demanding him to speak. "I wanted what every other idiot had" Flag number three.
What he really really had wanted was her to acknowledged that she was special, that he was too and that they were meant to make love forever and always. "And I wanted you to be mad at me for trying to get it"
She took a sip, pursed her lips, frowned and straightened things out. "So" she made a pause "You believe that... you did something to me. That you willingly, out of the evil of your heart, hurt me" Squints can have a sense of humor in situations such as this "That you wanted to have me, because any idiot can have me and that I should have been mad because of that" She nodded and he looked at her in shame. "I should be mad at you" She said resolved. And then she added "I am" She was seriously mad but still calmed.
"You are?" Stupid question but it gave him the chance to apologize.
"Of course I am, Booth. Your whole scenarios is based on the fact that I passively let you do whatever you think you did to me and that I let any one else do the same"
"Well, you did..."
She had explained this to him already. "I didn't. I don't let people have sex with me. I have sex with the people I choose. I decide, and my decision was not to stop you. And if any other idiot would have... approached me the way you did I would have decided differently. It upsets me that you think of me as some kind of brainless woman incapable of choosing the course of her own sexual life"
He looked at her squinting almost idiotically. She was sure he was focusing in the wrong parts of her speech as he had before.
"So... you wanted me to, you know..." He said, moving his head to the sides as he often did when he wasn't comfortable about what needed to be said.
"I've already told you that. You were too busy being mad at me" She replied in a low voice, looking at a spot on the floor right in front of him. However, it wasn't an ashamed tone.
Booth made a quiet "Ha" sound and looked away. It was freakish that they were discussing this in they usual dynamic. "And you wouldn't let any...."
"No. I think I've shown that in the past few moths. It's not like I didn't have offers, you know" she was still using her light demeanour, the kind she used when she was trying to make him uncomfortable about sex "As I am sure you had" she made a downwards pursed lips grin and raised her eyebrows, her eyes still on the floor "though I think you didn't take the same course of action you took with me"
"No, I certainly did not" He replied almost instantly. He returned to his line of thought then "And you didn't particularly enjoyed the... hurtful part of it?"
"No, not particularly..."
He tilted his head closer to her and in the confidential tone of his he said "I am sorry I hurt you"
"I would have been gentler if you'd asked me"
She shook her head "You woudn't"
He had to think about that. He had admitted he woudn't, that he would have stopped, but hadn't it been his first intention for her to tell him that she was special and that he should treat her accordingly? "No, I would"
"No, you wouldn't" again, that factual tone on her voice.
"I would, ok, I would. If I say I would, I would"
A lopsided smile took over her face, it was so Booth to say that so she wouldn't feel rejected "Ok, you would"
There was a long silence during which they just focused on their drinks, on their private thoughts. Brennan was thinking that maybe she was wrong and he was right. Maybe she should have said to slow down, to let her turn around, maybe she should have told him to kiss her. She liked kissing during sex. Maybe she should have demanded him to let her hold him, she would have liked to see his face and kiss his neck. Well, that was all gone now. She could adapt. She had to anyway.
Booth, on the other hand, now that there was silence, could try to feel a little better. But it didn't work, regardless of how many times she said it wasn't his fault, he would remain responsible for hurting her. For hurting her privates of all things. He needed to be punished.
"You're going to be fine, right? The doctor said you would be fine?" He broke the silence.
"Hum, yes. The swelling should go away in a couple of days and the tearing should be completely healed within a week" she said in a clinical manner.
"The tearing? I tore you?" He wanted to kill himself.
"It's not that uncommon, specially after consecutive sexual encounters such like ours"
Booth rubbed her face "Oh, Bones"
"What? It really isn't that uncommon" she repeated.
He sighed, he really wished she would praise herself a little more. "Did I do something else?"
She used a small pause to consider the answer. He would feel guilty, but he wanted the truth "There's the scratches and the bruises"
He should be whipping himself. He should... "Let me see"
"What?" Then she understood "No!"
"Come on Bones" He was pleading.
If this was going to allow him to mitigate his guilt, if this was going to help them get pass it, then she would let him. She blinked slowly and pulled the collar of her shirt down. And there were the scratches, some were now thin scars, others were still red, raw on the upper part of her breasts. Her breasts, that were ivory as he had imagined. She stood up then, looking at him, his face contorted as he stared at the marks. So she pulled up the bottom of her shirt and greenish and purple bruises were revealed on the sides of her ribs, and more marks across her stomach were found. Even worst, some of the scratches disappeared under the waist of her skirt. She saw him as he pulled it down a little and more awful marks appeared. He looked up at her, but her eyes were blank. He pulled the skirt up, which shouldn't feel so weird after the many times he had done the same, but it must have been the delicacy of his movements now. He felt horror. He saw horror. He had cause horror. Bruises shaped like fingers under the bones of her hips, fingernails marks around her lean pubic hair. He placed a hand on her thigh and she rotated it. "God, Bones" he muttered as he saw the scratches on her inner thighs.
He made her sit as he keeled in front of her. She shouldn't let him do this, she thought. As if he was a gynecologist, he separated her legs and with a soft pull behind her knees she settled on the edge of the couch. He could see now. Carefully using his fingers he separated the swollen labia. She flinched a little. Redness, dark redness where a much softer color should be. Evident tearing marks. He wanted to kiss them all away, to lick her every wound until there were none. But they were is beastly doing. "God, Bones" He looked back up at her only to find her staring at him. But she said nothing, concentrated as she was trying to remember if any man had ever looked at her private parts as he was now. She could recall men looking as if it was candy in front of them and others that were almost disgusted, as if it was an obligation to perform oral sex. Booth, on the other hand, was delicate even with his eyes. He slightly brushed her injuries with the back of his fingers. Then he ran his hands through her inner thighs up to her knees. He delicately pushed them together. "I am so sorry"
"It's ok" She reassured him as she pushed her skirt down her thighs.
Booth remained knelt in front of her, as a penitent asking for forgiveness, which he was receiving but not accepting.
No, she had most definitively never seen that expression in any other man with whom she had had sex. Not even the ones- the few ones that told her they cared for her or loved her. Truth, none of them had ever caused that kind of trauma on her, none had that kind of guilt. But it wasn't only guilt, Booth's eyes carried something else. He was a puzzle, not a regular one, it seemed that new pieces appeared every time she thought she had figured it out. Brennan smiled at her stupid analogy, at him, at the situation.
"This is... crazy" It didn't sound like her, but there was not a better expression.
"No, Bones, it's terrible" Booth replied sitting in the coffee table in front of her.
She chuckled even when his face was dark "It's crazy, Booth, it really is. It was... it is... it's crazy" she leaned as if she was going to tell him a secret. "We had sex. I mean... we had sex, which is crazy because you think that in our line of work one shouldn't get romantically involved with a college, and I think that one shouldn't get involved with co-workers regardless the line of work, unless, of course, both persons can compartmentalize, which I think I can but you can't. You believe in love and love making and I think it's neuro-chemicals playing with our heads. And out of the blue you and I... engage in this frenzy, this thing that was so unlike you that I thought at first that I had dreamt it. But I hadn't and I didn't stop it, neither did you. And you were mad because... you thought I should be offended" She shook her head still smiling "Because you find me attractive? Why would that offend me? I am aware of my appeal, I didn't thought you were, or if you did, that you would actually act on it"
"I am always aware of that" It slip before he could repress it.
Self confident or not, rational or not, every time someone said she was attractive or beautiful she reacted like a twelve years-old, her face reddened and a bashful smile appeared.
Seeing that reaction, Booth added "You know you're beautiful, right?"
No, she didn't. Well, she did in that sort of I know I'm not a monster way insecure women have. He had the feeling he had already felt many times in the past, she honestly didn't think she was beautiful. She had no real notion of herself physically or otherwise. She absolutely ignored who or what she was other than intelligent. She really saw herself as a brain, just a brain. The rest of her, body and soul, not that she believed in the soul, were merely structural support, nothing more than food or air, just a necessity. And, like food, she was going to enjoy it, but never admit that it was important.
"Well, you are" He said in a factual tone.
She blushed again and disregarded it as the well intentioned comment by a friend who cared for her and who believed he had done something horrible.
Booth looked at her. She acted as if nothing had happened. As if they had never had sex and he had never harmed her and he had never looked at her like he had minutes before. She could compartmentalize, alright. And she was so good at it that she even compartmentalized her being. She was a brain, and a body. And one had nothing to do with the other. They were different systems, they worked separately. No overlap there. So aseptic.
Something very small changed inside her. Maybe it was the words, or perhaps the extra something on his eyes, but she had had this distinctive sensation before. It wasn't like all the times he had reacted to her outfits, to the nightgown dress, or the Wonder Woman costume, even the Roxi's dresses. It wasn't like when the clothes were too revealing or when hair, makeup and accessories turned her into the modern version of a princess. It was exactly the same as that one time years ago when he said she was well structured. She wasn't dresses up, had only foundation and very little eyeshadow, her hair was like it is after a long work day and she was eating a doughnut. That's hardy the scenario for romance -not that romance exists-. And he said you're well structured. She believed him. She honestly did believe in that second that she was beautiful. And she really, absolutely, totally believed that he was going to kiss her. But he didn't. Steps downstairs, heels clicking actually. And the moment was gone, puffed into a huge ball of awkwardness. Impossible to come back from there, and she was even hurt for a moment. And then the usual, safe flirtation which she could not resist but that meant nothing. She wasn't beautiful after all. But now, right now she thought she might be.
And he looked away. The moment again evaporated into nothingness. Half a smile crept on her face. Of course he'd look away. He always looked away or walked away.
She leaned forward and Booth froze. His guilt and his fear sent him in that attentive yet motionless state animals get when threatened. She grabbed her beer and leaned back again, resting her back on the couch. It would have been so easy to kiss him. It was still so easy to place her feet at each side of him on the coffee table and just let her skirt fall so he could see her again. It would have been too tacky, it would have been wrong, it would have been stupid. It would... She drowned that line of thought with a big gulp of beer.
"I should get going" He said as he stood up quickly and clumsy. He was flushed from the collar of his shirt to his hairline.
She could say something, she could say aren't you going to finish your beer? In stead, she stood up. As he walked to the door and she followed, she wish her skirt had pockets so she'd know what the hell to do with her hands.
Booth turned on his heels and their eyes met. She smiled in anticipation. And he looked away. Brennan smile grew bigger. He was so predictable. Booth snapped his fingers and clapped his hands as he did when he considered a subject or a situation called for a quick dash.
"Kay, so... See you tomorrow, then, Bones?"
"Yeah" She replied, lips slightly curled down as she tried to repress the smile.
He was gone.
She blinked to the door a few times. Things were clear now, to her at least.
Awfully OOC, I know, I know, I know!!!
And WTF is wrong with me??? I've never thought I could be this misogynistic but apparently I am. I'll have to take it to therapy.
Review is always appreciated even if it's "WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU???"